


it will kill him to remember this

by weloveandymurray



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weloveandymurray/pseuds/weloveandymurray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's funny how the pain of losing a match is so insignificant, compared with knowing that the person you love will never love you back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it will kill him to remember this

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Stan’s epic match against Novak Djokovic in the 4th round of the Australian Open, and the fact that Stan and Benoit have the cutest bromance ever. Not beta-d.

From the minute Stan misses that last backhand shot and collapses onto the ground, everything becomes a blur. He can remember every missed opportunity in the match as clearly as the ringing of a bell, but getting up and walking to the net is where everything starts to fade. Why would he bother to remember this? He lost, and no amount of praise for coming _so close_ to beating the world number one will change that.

He faintly remembers Novak ripping his shirt, in shades of last years final, he doesn’t care, the arrogance of the is action lost on him. He quickly shoves his stuff into his bag, and raises a hand to the crowd as he leaves the court. Before he knows it he’s out of the arena, standing in front of the trainer’s room, his legs are burning, but now the match is over it’s not bothering him like it did before.

He’s lying face down on the massage table when his team come in, its awkward, they don’t know what to say and Stan can’t pretend that he doesn’t see the disappointment on thier faces. He should have won. There’s a bit of silence before someone speaks quietly to tell him that there will be a press conference after, despite it being well past two in the morning. Stan doesn’t even acknowledge the comment, he doesn’t want to speak right now, not to his team, not to anyone. Especially not nosy journalists who always ask the worst questions. When the trainer is done Stan sits up and someone pulls him to his feet and into a hug. He thinks it’s Benoit, but he doesn’t really remember. Stan doesn’t really remember much at all of what happened in the early hours of that morning, but he does know there was a light, warm hand on the small of his back for the whole walk from the trainer’s room to the press conference. When he goes in and sits down it disappears and he misses the feeling; shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

The questions are horrible and he tries to answer as best he can, but there’s something stuck in his throat and the words don’t manage to come out right. He tries not to cry as they make him relieve the match, talking about how his chances slipped away. They all want to know how he managed to start the match playing so well, how he managed to get two sets off Djokovic but the truth is that Stan doesn’t even know. He often doesn’t remember what he says when he talks to the press, but tonight (morning, he reminds himself), more than any other time, Stan doesn’t want to remember at all. He just wants to forget, and it kills him just a little inside a few days later, when the only words he clearly remembers saying are: “in the end, Novak was better.” And it’s true, otherwise he would have won.

Stan cries after he leaves the press conference, he can’t help it, the knot in his throat keeps getting worse and it makes it hard to breathe. The tears drip down his face and into his lap as he sits in the car on the way back to the hotel. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away anymore as he tries to block out everything around him. He knows his team in the car are talking about him, he hears his name, but he’s not really listening because he just doesn’t want to know.

Someone leads him up to his hotel room, they stand close thier hands bumping against each others in the elevator. At the time Stan didn’t even know who it was, but he realizes now it must of been Benoit. Once they are in Stan’s room, Stan collapses on his bed without even taking off his shoes. Benoit brings him a glass of water and tells him to drink it before going into the bathroom. When he comes back Stan hasn’t touched the glass, just lying there with his tears starting to dry on his face. Benoit looks at him with a mixture of sadness and exasperation, “please?” Benoit says, gesturing at the water.   
“Just go” Stan whispers looking away from him, as more tears slide down his face. Benoit must know he just wants to be alone right now.

Stan hears Benoit sigh before answering, “No”. Then he hears some rustling in his suitcase before his t-shirt and shorts that he likes to sleep in are being thrown at him. They land on his stomach and Benoit tells him to get changed. Stan doesn’t move. Stan watches Benoit watching him for several minutes before Benoit runs his hand through is hair in exasperation and sighs, looking like he has no idea what he’s doing. Another moment passes before Benoit gives in and walks over, pulling off Stan’s shoes while muttering “I’ll just do it myself then”.

Stan doesn’t remember much about Benoit undressing him and putting the clean clothes on. Stan knows he makes it difficult by refusing to move and being generally unhelpful. Stan just wants Benoit to get the message and leave him the hell alone. He doesn’t want him around right now, when all he wants to do is sleep and try and forget about one of the most painful losses of his career. After he’s dressed, Benoit forces him under the covers, and Stan thinks he’s finally going to be left alone. He closes his eyes, and curls in on himself under the covers, his head pounding after all the crying. He starts to drift off, thinking that Benoit has already left until a warm hand shakes him on his shoulder. Stan slowly blinks his eyes as he sleepily rolls over to Benoit staring down at him and telling him to move over. That’s when Stan opens his eyes properly and really looks at Benoit. He’s dressed in some of Stan’s old clothes and the Yonex t-shirt he’s chosen is too small on him; Stan finds his eyes drawn to the small strip of tanned skin that’s showing just above his shorts. Benoit looks so good in his clothes, better than Stan had imagined, not that he had really thought about it that much (he’s thought about it too much). It takes Stan a minute to stop staring and clear his throat, “what?” he asks quietly in a tired voice.

Benoit looks at him closely, as if he can see exactly what Stan is thinking. Benoit knows exactly how Stan feels about him, so he should have realized what it would do to Stan to walk around in his clothes like this.

“I know I said it would be better if we were just friends, and I stick by that, so don’t read into this too much. I just really think you need me as a friend right now”, Benoit explains as he tries to get Stan to move over in the bed a little more, by shoving him on the shoulder again. Stan moves over a bit to give Benoit enough room to get in, torn between the thought that Benoit is actually getting into his bed with him, and wanting to be alone to forget everything. Benoit gets in and turns off the light, unable to see in the darkness, it seems that every little sound is magnified, Benoit’s breathing is the loudest of them all. Stan shuffles over a little more so that he’s nearly on the edge of the bed. Even though Benoit is in his bed lying there next to him, Stan thinks he would be crossing some sort of line of “just friends” if they were actually touching. Stan doesn’t know how long they lie there, him listening to Benoit’s breathing, unable to relax enough to sleep at all. It’s kind of awkward, just lying there, staring into the darkness, with his whole body tensed up, not wanting to move a muscle. Stan is trying to forget the frustration that he felt as the final set started to slip through his fingers when he hears Benoit mutter “this is ridiculous”. Then he feels the bed shift and before Stan knows it Benoit is suddenly right behind him, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“What are you doing!” Stan hisses, slightly panicked, as his mind goes in rapid circles, Benoit in his bed, wearing his clothes, touching him, Stan’s feelings for him.... He’s freaking out because this is all just a bit too much right now.

Benoit tucks his head into the hollow between Stan’s neck and shoulder as he answers “you need to take your mind off that match, and if I can distract you enough, while still just being a friend, then...” he trails off quietly. Stan doesn’t say anything back as he tries desperately to relax into Benoit’s arms, but it’s hard when all he wants to do is roll over and kiss his best friend. He knows that it probably wouldn’t be appreciated even if Benoit is slowly stroking two of his fingers down Stan’s arm. As much as Stan doesn’t want to remember this too much (it will just depress him on nights when he’s sad and lonely), he subconsciously finds himself committing to memory the way that Benoit is holding him, how he feels wrapped around him and his warm breath on his neck. When you find yourself in love with someone you can never have you want to be able to remember these things because you know you’ll never get the chance to have them again.

Stan is nearly asleep when Benoit slips his feet between Stan’s and gently laces thier fingers together, his warm body is nice and it helps to dissipate the cold bitterness that has surrounded Stan since the end of the match. It’s kills Stan to know that this is the closest he will ever get to being _with_ Benoit in the way that he wants to be. Its stupid, Stan knows to be in love with your best friend when you know that you can never have them. In a few days when the memory of this night has faded to nearly nothing, Stan hopes that Benoit whispering to him when he thinks Stan is asleep won’t be the part that he remembers the most.

“I’m sorry I can’t love you in the way that you love me”.

But Stan knows that he will remember those words, if not anything else about that night because of how Benoit kisses him gently on the neck after he whispers them. And how Stan feels the wetness of a tear from Benoit trickle slowly down his shoulder as Benoit grips him even tighter like he can’t bear to let go of this moment either.


End file.
